A Roundup Of All My Current YuueiTeacher!Endeavor Art I Didnt Realize Ive Drawn So Much For This. An

A roundup of all my current YuueiTeacher!Endeavor art… I didn’t realize I’ve drawn so much for this. An AU where Endeavor seeks help early on and becomes a teacher at Yuuei. 

MC: Mr.Beelzebub, can you please point out & tell the court who was it that called you-

MC (wiping a tear away): 'a bad demon'

Beel (sniffling & pointing to Lucifer): It was him!

[Gasping in the room & Simeon faints]

Diavolo (eating popcorn on the judges bench): His own brother!?

Barbatos: Young master,you have to remain neutral

Diavolo: Right

Lucifer: He ate our entire week's groceries in just a day!

MC: Maybe! But to say such nasty impactful comments!? Cruelty I say!

Lucifer: And I'd say it again!

Beel: (sad whimper)

Diavolo (strikes gavel): I've seen enough! Lucifer you're sentenced to 3 hours time out! Go to the corner of shame!

Diavolo (whispering): Also you have to come to my sleep over this Saturday

Lucifer: What!?

MC (blowing kisses): Thank you judge diavolo~

Diavolo (grabbing the kisses & patting them to his cheek): No thank you, my little lamb ♡

Lucifer: This court is corrupt

imagine silently vibing in the kitchen with katsuki bakugou.

you help yourself up into the counter, dressed in nothing but his shirt (haphazardly thrown on after spending all day kissing and getting nasty in bed) and a pair of fuzzy socks because he’d told you the apartment was cold since he runs warm and you need to keep your feet warm.

the kettle rumbles loud and proud beside you while katsuki gets the mugs from the top shelf. you’d made them together on your sixth or seventh date — a pottery painting class. bakugou’s is a creamy shade of Orange, like the sun setting outside the kitchen window, warm on your back. and yours is a soft pink, like the blush that dusts his cheeks from being caught staring. staring at you.

you let him make you some kind of herbal tea. watching bakugou grab the tea bags from another cupboard. this time, you’re the one staring, eyes caught on the motion of his back muscles rippling before cascading down to his unfairly slender waist, his grey sweat pants that hang a little too low on his itty bitty hips, and the rough textured skin on his side. the battle scar you love so much.

“what flavour?”

you hear him mumble, your gaze that was once tethered to the eighth wonder of the world (his phenomenally beautiful body) shoots up to bakugou’s face. a lazy smirk lies on the plump edge of his lips and compliments the his chiselled features illuminated by golden hour outside. you see the sun reflect off the brownish flecks to his gorgeous ruby eyes and the soft tint of blonde to his hair (you make a mental note to thank mitsuki for this later), before mirroring his smile.

“peach.”

to people on the outside of your lovey little bubble — there’s nothing significant about your choice of tea. but to you and katsuki, you know that it’s the same flavour as the lip glaze you wore on the night he first kissed you. it’s the scent of your body wash, the one that you leave at his place because you know that bakugou adores peaches on you. peaches, like the fruits you cut up for him whenever you’re able to join him for lunch at the agency, swiping your thumb over his chin as the juices run down it — sucking it off with an affectionate laugh.

“sweet,” bakugou hums into the quiet ambience of the kitchen. “just like you.”

his hands, though capable of intangible levels of distraction, work delicately and quickly to brew you the perfect cup of peach herbal tea. before you can even ask, he sweetens your cup with a tea spoon of brown sugar and a dash of golden honey — pushing it towards you gently. with a loving whispered reminder. ‘careful, it’s hot.’

katsuki waits for you to take a sip before he does the same with his own. he won’t admit to how cute you look on his counter, in his apartment, in his clothes with his marks on your neck, glittering under the setting sun. his bare feet pad on the vinyl flooring as he crosses the kitchen to meet you and his chest bristles with happiness when your legs part to make room for him.

“good?”

“always,” you chirp, looking up at kastuki through your lashes with your big bambi eyes. “i love you.”

katsuki looks taken aback but quickly recovers, rubbing his cheek on his bare shoulder as if to rid himself of the heat rising underneath its skin.

“love you even more. now drink up b’fore it gets cold.” he says gruffly but he’s lovesick all the same. you think that bakugou is so cute, you might implode.

and there you are, vibing out in the quietness of his kitchen — clinking your misshapen mugs together and drinking tea, letting the world go by as if you’re the only two people in it.

“your rent should be a third of your income” well wouldn’t that be nice. wouldn’t it. lower the rent pussy

East Asian fanartists are starting to migrate back to Tumblr because Twitter is insane, toxic, and dying, and what we're NOT going to do is let the fucking exclusionists get them, do you hear me? We are not going to let a bunch of feral idiots try to apply the most myopic version of puritanism to foreign artists we're not we're not we're not. Form an armed brigade if you have to, do you hear me. We're not going to bully the artists who may or may not even speak English because we have our precious standards of moral purity. If we see art that makes us uncomfy we're going to block the artist and tumblr savior their name so we don't have to see them again AND WE'RE GONNA MOVE THE FUCK ON.

I fetishize fictional men and their fictional dick and balls. I go to work, I go to school, but when I come home, I fetishize fictional men and their fictional dick and balls. I spend Christmas with my family and stare blankly out the window as my siblings unwrap their presents because I can’t wait to get home and fetishize fictional men and their fictional dick and balls. Sometimes I throw wild Great Gatsby esque parties where I hover over my guests from the second floor and while I enjoy the lifestyle, I’m burdened by a profound loneliness because all I’m really thinking about is fetishizing fictional men and their fictional dick and balls. I love fetishizing fictional men and their fictional dick and balls. I love it so much that every second I spend not fetishizing fictional men and their fictional dick and balls I’m having American Psycho esque daydreams where I brutally slaughter my corporate competitors because I yearn for an escape from backhanded platitudes and my own catharsis-less sociopathic tendencies that capitalist America has forced upon me. Also because I am desperate to go home and fetishize fictional men and their fictional dick and balls.